Phoenix Rising
by Doctor Drarry
Summary: Harry is coming into a late magical maturity. Draco is struggling to accept the new world order. Will they be able to face the newest danger to the wizarding world?
1. Ch 1 - Phoenix Rising

_No regrets, just rebirth  
move forward, and ignite_

-

Harry really wished he had never seen Malfoy naked after Quidditch practice that day.

It was only a brief glimpse, from behind, but the image was seared into his mind, appearing behind his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes. The long, lean curve of his back. The sensual dimples just above his ass. The smooth, flawless white skin. The slightly girlish curve of his hips. But mostly, the high-set, heart-shaped bubbled ass cheeks that made him want to shove Malfoy over the nearest available surface and start fucking.

Harry looked away from the pale, pointed face across the Great Hall (which was really more delicately pretty than simply pointed, he'd begun to think), only to find Hermione staring at him with that intense look she'd been wearing recently, as if he was one of the _Daily Prophet's_ more perplexing Hex Hasher puzzles. He turned awkwardly back to his kippers, rather wishing the blood that had rushed to his cock at the memory of Malfoy naked had not changed course directly for his face.

"You know, Harry," came Hermione's thoughtful tone from beside him, "if you ever want to tell me anything, I'm here for you, right?"

"'Course, 'Mione," he mumbled around a mouthful, not looking her in the face.

He felt more than saw her leaning closer to him, but when she whispered the next part in his ear, he could practically feel the heat from her lips. "Although I do wish you had better taste in men."

Harry stiffened with shock, whipping his head around. Hermione, from all outward appearances, seemed nonchalantly focused on her food, except for the tiny smile that played around her lips.

He should have known. Bloody smartest witch of their generation. If there was ever a mystery Hermione couldn't solve, they had yet to find it. Harry was not looking forward to their inevitable conversation later.

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

With the Dark Lord crushed, dead, and gone, and all his Death Eaters imprisoned or scattered in hidden pockets throughout Europe, this had been the quietest year at Hogwarts anyone could remember. And with the exception of his sudden interest in all things Malfoy, the only thing bothering Harry these days was the strange tingling that had begun two weeks ago. It was not constant, but raced along his skin in small jolts whenever he performed a spell. After Madam Pomfrey had pronounced him in perfect health, he had decided to ignore the tingling in favor of concentrating on making the spells do what he wanted. They had begun to go slightly awry otherwise, like in last Wednesday's double Transfiguration with the Slytherins. Instead of turning Neville's shoe into a waterproof rain boot, he had transformed his entire foot into a huge, shrieking half-dove, half-lizard _thing_, that had soared around the room with Neville still attached and flopping up and down behind it. He still remembered the way Malfoy's face had lit up with laughter as a severely flustered McGonagall jogged around trying to trap the thing for long enough to Transfigure it back to normal.

Between that and other small disturbances, he'd lost almost one hundred points for Gryffindor this week, and he thought Hermione was on the verge of going to the library to research his strange lack of control over his magic. Quidditch, at least, was going smoothly, with the eighth years forming an almost unstoppable team, Malfoy having elected to play Chaser instead of competing with Harry for the Seeker position. Quite gentlemanly, actually, if you discounted his acerbic comments about how favoritism would never let a Malfoy be chosen over "Perfect _bloody_ Potter." Hence the first practice last night, that had left Harry exhausted for all of five minutes, until the sight of Malfoy's naked backside sent all feelings other than overpowering lust straight out of his head.

His mind was still on Malfoy, not on the problems with his magic, when he returned to the Gryffindor common room after Advanced Defense. That was why at first he was flabbergasted that Hermione would be talking about THAT with him.

"Errr... come again?"

Hermione huffed irritably. "I _said_, 'When you're doing your spellwork, does it feel like you're pushing your magic through a really tight hole?'"

He had to pause and think again, as his mind was still on the _tight hole_ bit. Damn, his hormones were really going crazy these days, too. "A bit, I guess."

"Well, what does it feel like?" She had her quill poised above a long scroll that looked half-full with notes already, probably on whatever his "condition" might be. _Besides the fact that I've got a crush on Malfoy and am going entirely bloody mental?_ The books around her had titles like _Wild Magic: Fact and Fiction, Channeling the Flow: A Wizard's Guide to his Inner Merlin_, and _Why Won't my Bloody Wand Work?_

Harry thought for a moment, scratching absently at his wrist, where the worst of the tingles still lingered. "I guess it feels like... I dunno. Like... like I'm trying to fire a cannon to blow out a candle. If I don't hit the flame just right, the whole candle just explodes. Like in Charms yesterday." He grimaced, and noticed Hermione doing the same. Flitwick still hadn't managed to fully reconstruct his classroom wall.

Hermione chewed her lip, looking pensive. "Harry, remember when I turned seventeen?"

Harry nodded. He could remember it well. Hermione had gone to sleep feeling achy and chilled, had slept for fifteen hours, and had woken up as one of the strongest witches in the school. But her magic had been erratic for all of a few hours until she adjusted to her new power levels. Every wizard's seventeenth birthday brought some type of change, a boost in power or a shift in magic to an adult state, but it always took a different form. Harry still remembered the tiny flash of jealousy that he had felt after her power surge, when his own magic remained entirely unchanged after his own seventeenth birthday.

"Well, I've been reading," she started, choosing her words carefully, "and it seems like sometimes, if a wizard is under a large amount of stress, that his or her magical development can sometimes be... delayed. Especially if the wizard has low self-esteem, is in denial about a part of him- or herself, or if he or she is kept repressed by parents or society." She sounded like she was quoting from one of her books, which she probably was. Harry's mind raced.

"So... what? You think I am going through my magical development now? But I've had tingles for weeks!"

"I know," she sighed and looked down at one of the tomes on her lap. "But that's the only part I can't figure out! It makes so much sense, otherwise! You turned seventeen in the middle of the war, as we were being attacked by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and you've only just seemed to realize that -" she lowered her voice dramatically, "- you like boys." She gave him a stern look as he hurriedly glanced around to see who was listening.

"Now," she continued, "it's no difference to me if you like broomsticks better than breasts -"

"Hermione!" he gasped, scandalized. She paid him no attention.

"But Malfoy, Harry? You can do so much better. What about Justin or maybe Seamus?"

He made a face. "Justin? Hermione, he already looks at me with cow eyes in every class we have together!" Harry might be dense sometimes, but he could see that much. "I don't want someone who worships the ground I walk on! And Seamus is like a brother!" A hot brother, maybe, but still a brother. "And I think he likes bints more than blokes, anyway."

"Fine. Regardless, I think these tingles might be related to you finally accepting that you have an attraction to the same sex, in combination with the lack of stress from battling an evil dark lord."

"So you're saying I'm in wizard puberty right now?"

"Who's in puberty?" asked Ron, plopping himself down next to Hermione and laying an arm around her shoulders. She hissed as she had to juggle her inkwell to keep it from spilling over her notes. "Sorry, 'Mione," he said, pecking her on the cheek. She softened immediately.

Harry didn't know whether he wanted to vomit or make cooing noises at their mushiness.

"Harry might be."

Ron's brow furrowed. "'Cause of the tingling, mate?"

Harry nodded. "Hermione thinks my magic might be finally... stretching out, or something."

"That, and the fact that he -" she swallowed, cutting herself off at Harry's murderous look. "That he's having trouble focusing his spells with his wand," she amended quickly.

Ron nodded sagely, seeming to miss the hesitation. "Could be, mate. All that business with You Know Who could set anyone back a bit. Maybe you'll be as powerful as our 'Mione when it's all over." He grinned at her, eyes shining, and she flushed and leaned further into his embrace. Harry was leaning more towards vomiting territory by the second. He stood abruptly.

"Well, thanks for looking it up, anyway. I think I'll go out for a kip and clear my head."

His two friends gave half-hearted goodbyes, with Hermione giving only a weak admonishment for how close it was to curfew, before becoming absorbed in each other again. Harry imagined her inkwell tipping over and staining both their trousers, and felt a little better.

The castle was quiet this close to curfew, with only a few students rushing back to their dorms. Harry headed towards the astronomy tower, the invisibility cloak sliding airily against his skin. He stepped softly, not wanting to risk casting _Muffliato_ on his feet. With his luck, he'd Vanish his own feet off instead. He snorted softly at the thought of the headlines that would follow: "Boy Who Lived Dies of Blood Loss. Feet Remain Missing."

Ten minutes later he was shuffling slowly up the last of the stairs to the landing on the astronomy tower, trying valiantly to control his huffing and puffing so that if anyone else was up here, they would not discover his presence. He may have been in shape from Quidditch, but that didn't mean climbing 500 stairs was _easy_. He paused 2 steps before the top, breathing deeply and silently through his mouth, listening carefully for any signs of activity; the astronomy tower still held its reputation as the _de facto_ place for couples to meet surreptitiously after hours. Tonight, though, it seemed he was alone.

He stepped onto the landing, glancing around at the 6 telescopes arranged at roughly hexagonal points among the crenellations, and sighed. The wind caught his cloak in a chilly dance around his feet, but he dared not try a Warming Charm. He took out his wand and stared at the holly shaft, a dark slash against his lighter palm. Moonlight cast a slightly silver glow over everything, making the wood gleam like the polished handle of his Firebolt. He remembered first picking up the wand in Ollivanders, seven long years ago, and the friendly heat that spread from the wood into his palm, making him feel immediately connected to it in a way he would never have expected to feel about an inanimate object. This was the wand that had seen him through countless battles, had never failed him. It was the twin to Voldemort's, and the wand that had finally cast the Dark Lord from this world.

He wrapped his fingers slowly around the wood shaft, feeling the smooth, worn grip – and nothing else. He strained to feel the warmth, the connection with the wood which he had always taken for granted.

Nothing. It lay in his palm like any stranger's wand.

Harry sighed again, shoving the length of holly back into his pocket and scratching the back of his neck absently. He turned to look out over the battlements, surveying the moonwashed landscape that had been his home for so many years. He wondered what he would do without the place, when he was finally beyond these walls and living what everyone supposed would be a calm, peaceful life. The thing was, Harry didn't know if he could handle a life of continuous peace and calm. Becoming an Auror might be the best of the career options available to him, but after witnessing the Ministry's hypocrisy over the years and its utter impotence in the face of Voldemort, not to mention the wizarding world's tendency to elect vapid, ridiculous ministers, Harry had no desire to work for the institution.

We wandered closer to the short stone walls that were the only barrier between him and a an assured drop to his death on the ramparts far below. He wondered how it would feel, to fall against the wind, knowing what the end of his fall would bring. No, he could not really contemplate suicide with any seriousness. He wanted to figure himself out: both his magic, and this attraction to Draco Malfoy. _Especially_ this attraction to Draco Malfoy. At least a mystery could keep him occupied for a time.

But he could take a look over the edge, right? See what that fantastic drop would look like?

He slowly leaned over, palms moving to rest his weight against the stones, upper body leaning out over the safety of the wall.

And that's when several things happened at once.

A scuffing sound came from the stairs behind him, causing him to try and whirl around midway through leaning over, putting all his weight onto his left hand for support. The stone shifted precariously, and then gave way altogether, just as he saw the pale face of none other than Draco Malfoy emerging from the stairwell. And the wind shifted, tossing his cloak as he spun, knocking his hood off and tangling the mass of the cloak around his arms and torso. He flailed wildly as he lost his balance, both mental and physical, and felt himself start to fall. His knees impacted with the corner of the stone, his feet were lifting off the ground, and he was tipping, oh so slowly, over the wall. He felt as if he were observing himself in slow motion from beyond his body, seeing himself flail cloak-covered arms as he finally toppled. It all happened in the space of a moment, but in that second he could see the shock registering on Malfoy's face, see him start to raise his arm in slow motion, as if to arrest Harry's fall.

Then he was over the wall.

Consciousness of his plight slammed back into him as his mind caught up with the movement of his body, beginning to plummet down from the ramparts of the tower. Cold wind hurtled by his face, whipping his cloak around him as he struggled to reach his wand. He NEEDED to reach his wand. Desperation gave him strength, but he couldn't get through the wrapped material of his cloak, clawing in vain at the shimmery fabric. With each second, the stone below loomed closer, and his body hurtled ever faster.

As his fingers fumbled and slipped against his tangled cloak, he thought of Ron and Hermione, of Draco Malfoy standing on the tower, and absurdly of Severus Snape, laughing in the afterlife at the pathetic way Harry had died. One thought surfaced in his mind above the others, one single goal that eclipsed everything else.

_I can't die like this._

_I WON'T BLOODY DIE LIKE THIS._

A white light shattered the night sky, and it felt like his eardrums burst as a tremendous BOOM shook the air. Heat slammed into his body like a sledge hammer, and his vision filled with a shimmering haze as his body seemed to fill with fire and strength. His limbs jerked viciously as his flight was arrested, and he shouted in pain. He could vaguely see the castle walls around him through a veil of light, and below him, the castle's lower battlements. Battlements that were not looming closer with every second.

He had stopped.

He caught his breath, wondering what in the hell had just happened, and that's when he realized he was _floating_ in the air. He looked up through the haze of light, squinting, and saw shimmering wings stretching up and away from his body.

Fear kept him from marveling about that too much at the moment. With death seeming slightly less imminent, his goal changed, and he willed the flame that filled his body to carry him up, back to the tower above. The light shifted, glimmering and swirling around him, and his body rocketed like a slingshot back up towards the sky. The breath left Harry's lungs for the second time, and he barely had time to think _SLOWER_ before he was tumbling painfully over the wall onto the landing that he had fallen from only seconds before.

He lay on his back as the light slowly faded around him, gasping for air, his head pounding like a drum. He felt half-blinded from the light, and his body ached like he'd been Crucioed, but the feel of the stone, so cool and solid under his body, was about the best thing he had ever felt.

Consciousness slowly began slipping away from him with as the light around him began to fade. A pale face emerged above him, becoming clearer against the reemerging darkness of the sky. _Malfoy_, he vaguely remembered. His mouth was moving, but Harry couldn't hear anything beyond a tinny ringing in his ears. His last waking thought was, _I hope he doesn't toss me back over the edge_.

The world faded to black.

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

TBC


	2. Ch 2 - The Sleeper Awakens

**Standard Disclaimer:** This story is intended as a whimsical piece of entertainment from which I seek no profit or recognition. Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, literary goddess that she is... Except maybe for that epilogue, I mean _really._

If you like the story, please favorite/review! :)

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

Over 2000 miles to the south and east of Hogwarts castle, far underground beneath the blowing sands of Giza, an ancient consciousness stirred. A forked tongue flicked out between wicked fangs, tasting the musty air for the first time in forty generations.

Something was different, the creature knew. Something has disturbed its sleep.

The forked tongue flicked out again, savoring the taste of darkness and earth. But there was something new, an extra element that irritated him. Something hot and bright that should not be disturbing his slumber. And then he knew.

Ra was abroad in the world once again.

With the taste of his ancient enemy sharp in his mouth, Apep yawned his jaws and reached out to the objects around him. Invested with the souls of the pure, taken against their wills, they held the nectar that would bring him back to life. For if Ra had awakened, then Apep must not remain asleep. For Order, there must be Chaos.

If such a beast could laugh, he would have. The power of the souls he swallowed had weakened over time, but strength still flooded his long, sinuous body. In the dark, he fed, until his body was full to overflowing with the life force of the unwilling. Apep gathered his magic, and leapt.

With an explosion of sand and stone, Apep's scaled and leathery form burst from the desert earth, his wings beating steadily, his body a splash of pitch against the darkness of the night sky. He flicked his tongue to the air once more, and screamed, turning north and slightly west. _I am coming, brother,_ he laughed. _I hope you are ready for me._

He was looking forward to the games to come.

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

Draco Malfoy was finding it difficult to hate Harry Potter.

A pragmatist by nature and by rearing, Draco had been taught, above all, to respect power. To treat it carefully, and to beware that if he fought against it, he should employ all of his cunning to never be caught. Power was power, and better to be associated with it than be forgotten.

For many years, that pragmatism had meant that the Malfoys followed Voldemort. After his first fall, they skirted wide of Dumbledore and courted political power instead. Then Voldemort had come back, and it seemed inevitable that he would retake Britain.

Until Harry Potter had turned his own killing curse back upon him, and the Malfoys had to face the truth: they had chosen the wrong power with which to ally themselves.

Draco mostly blamed his father, who was now locked in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Draco didn't know if he loved the man or not. It was difficult to think about, and there were layers of bitterness and resentment that he had yet to work through. When he was young, he used to think his father was all-powerful, incapable of making a wrong decision. The man's choices had brought them all to the brink of ruin, and had rendered him entirely impotent. Lucius Malfoy was now the definition of powerless.

And now Potter had power in spades. Mostly political, with a mountain of public goodwill that was not going anywhere soon, but also magical. He was one of the stronger wizards of their year, and master of the Elder Wand, although nobody had seen him use it. After Voldemort's death, it was as if the wand had just disappeared.

Add to that power the fact that his own mother had spared Potter's life in direct defiance of the Dark Lord, and that Potter had, in turn, testified to keep them both out of Azkaban, and Draco was finding it very difficult to maintain the same level of animosity towards the Boy Wonder.

It also didn't help that Potter was hot.

Draco could admit it to himself, if not to anyone else. Potter had kept growing until he was now two or three inches taller than Draco himself, and had filled out nicely with Quidditch-toned muscles. His face had matured, with sharp cheekbones and some scruff around his jaw. With his lightly tanned skin, just-shagged hair, and brilliant green eyes, the Boy Who Lived was making heads turn and had been featured in Witch Weekly nearly every issue since the Dark Lord's defeat.

In fact, when Draco had walked out onto the landing of the astronomy tower that night, Harry Potter had been at the forefront of his thoughts.

And now, gazing at a shallowly breathing Potter in the dim light of the hospital wing, he found himself replaying his first reaction to seeing the other boy.

Potter had obviously been caught off guard, but Draco had been, as well, not expecting anyone else to be on the astronomy tower on a cold night at midnight. But his shock had transformed almost instantly to fear as he saw Harry's face fill with horror in the moonlight, as he watched the boy windmill his arms and tip over the edge.

Of course, he could only really see the other boy's hands, head, and glimpses of his legs behind that sodding invisibility cloak of his. Of course Potter would have an invisibility cloak.

But it was that immediate reaction, his fear for Potter's life, that haunted him now, as he stared into the pale face of the boy who had once been his nemesis. Why should he care if Potter died or not? He certainly hadn't in the past.

Yet now it seemed he did.

"Mr. Malfoy." The voice came from behind him.

Draco turned sharply, startled, although he really should have been paying more attention to his surroundings.

But it was only McGonagall, the old cat, looking down her nose at him with her pinched face set in a disapproving frown. He imagined Granger looking like that in about 60 years, all wrinkles and frosty glares.

"It would behoove you to return to the dungeons and get some sleep tonight, Mr. Malfoy. I am sure Mr. Potter will be grateful, as we all are, for your quick action in bringing him to us from the tower tonight. However, I think Madam Pomfrey is quite capable of caring for him, and your continued presence may prove a hindrance to her work."

As if on cue, the Hogwarts mediwitch came bustling from her office in the back of the hospital wing where the two had been conferring only moments before, carrying a vial of blue potion that shone metallically in the light.

Draco stepped back willingly, but attempted to rally some of his usual disdain, trying to shrug off his confusion concerning Potter. It actually wasn't hard, considering the Headmistress' condescending tone. "Of course, Headmistress," he demurred. "I wouldn't dream of impeding the Saviour's recovery."

With that, he whirled away, hoping that the swirling blackness of his cloak held even a fraction of the menace that Severus Snape could once impart with the same motion. He stalked from the hospital wing with his chin up, not looking back.

When he finally reached the privacy of his dorm room (he was the only 8th year Slytherin boy) and had locked, warded, and silenced the room, he allowed himself to sigh heavily. He kicked off his boots and threw his crested school robe over the armchair in the corner. Collapsing onto his bed, he could finally think about what he had seen on the tower earlier that night.

Harry Potter, plummeting to his death.

Harry Potter, exploding with light like the surface of the sun.

Harry Potter, flying up to the tower encased in a glimmering cocoon of power, turning midnight to midday.

Draco closed his eyes against the remembered brightness of the memory. The boy's _eyes_ had been glowing, for Salazar's sake. Right before he passed out, anyway. Draco had never seen anything like it.

_But if that isn't power, then I don't know what is._

He turned on his side, trying not to think about how many people had been awakened by the explosion of light and magic. He hoped no one had seen him nearly running through the halls with Harry's body levitating in front of him, but only tomorrow would tell.

He decided that for now, he would try and get some sleep. Hopefully he wouldn't see Potter in his dreams. _Or hopefully you will,_ a small part of his mind spoke up.

_Shut up,_ the rest growled.

It took him a long time to fall asleep.

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

Harry could hear voices as he floated slowly back to consciousness.

"His skin looks different. Do you see that?"

"His skin looks the same as it always has, 'Mione."

"No, I'm sure of it! Look how it gleams in the light."

"Maybe he's just sweaty."

"Ronald! You have the observational skills of a Blast-ended Skrewt!"

It was impossible for Harry not to smile, so he gave the gig up and blinked. Then groaned, all amusement forgotten. The light _hurt_, like knives gouging into his skull.

"Oh, Harry, you're awake!"

Hermione's voice, that much closer, made his head feel like it was inside a bell. "No, I'm not. I'm dead." He groaned again.

He heard some other vague noises, and then someone was pushing a potion vial to his lips. "Drink this, dear. You'll feel better." Madam Pomfrey, then.

He forced himself to drink, then lay back against the pillow and waited for the potion to kick in. Slowly, the pain began ebbing away.

When it had abated to bearable territory, he opened his eyes to see three concerned faces staring down at him.

"How do you feel, dear?" Madam Pomfrey immediately asked, waving her wand in patterns over his body.

"Like I fell off a bloody tower," he grumbled, earning himself a stern look from the mediwitch for his language. "Sorry," he mumbled, only slightly abashed.

"You are lucky to be alive, Harry. Although I feel like I say this to you every time you are under my care. When Mr. Malfoy brought you to us, you had three fractured vertebrae, seven broken ribs, a broken clavicle, both shoulders dislocated, and both your eardrums has completely ruptured. You are quite lucky there was no permanent damage."

She kept up her wand motions as she said this, while his friends watched their interplay. It gave Harry a bit of nostalgia to once again be back under the nurse's motherly care. "Thank you for patching me up again, Poppy," he said, attempting a smile.

She gave him a soft look over her wand. "It's quite all right, dear."

Hermione just looked worried, but Ron was smiling slightly.

"Didn't get enough near-death experiences with old Moldy Voldie, eh mate?"

He blinked. "Nah, I thought I'd give it another try. For old times sake, you know," he grated out. Hermione was worrying her lip.

"Oh, Harry! They told us that you almost fell off the astronomy tower, but that Malfoy saved you and brought you down! What were you two doing up there?" Maybe it was the potions in him, but he was sure he wasn't imagining the slightly scandalized tone to her voice.

He decided to ignore it, instead rolling his eyes. "I'm sure he says he saved me, the git. And I DID fall off the tower." He frowned. "At least I think I did." He remembered the white light, the incredible heat filling his body. He concentrated, trying to take stock of how he actually felt right now, beyond the dull, lingering ache in his bones.

His body felt different. Heavy and full, with his skin stretched too tight. And he could feel the heat, pooling in his chest like a living thing.

_What's happened to me?_

"You fell off the tower?" Hermione cried, her eyebrows approaching her hairline.

Harry sighed. "I'll tell you what happened, but can you bring McGonagall so I can tell you all at once?"

"No need, Mr. Potter. I am already here." And she was, sweeping through the hospital wing towards them. He was glad to see her, wanting to get this over with and go back to sleep. That potion had helped, but his head and body still ached.

He began the story, leaving out the parts about the minor existential crisis that had led him to look over the edge in the first place, and was only interrupted for minor questions until he described the light catching him, and the huge boom of sound.

"So that's what that was! It woke up the whole tower, mate! We thought we were being attacked!"

"Indeed, Mr. Potter, that light show caused all of us quite a scare last night. The magic was -" McGonagall looked off to the side for a moment, "like nothing I have ever felt." Her eyes came back to his, filled with a question he couldn't answer. He squirmed a bit under the scrutiny.

_Great, another thing to make me a freak._

"But what was it, Headmistress?" Harry asked.

She looked troubled. "I am sorry, Mr. Potter, but I do not know. However, it is not entirely uncommon for a wizard's magic to save his life without conscious control, in such a dire situation as you describe. Not uncommon, but I have never heard of a situation involving _quite_ such a burst of power as we felt last night."

"Maybe this has something to do with his magical maturity? I was just reading about -"

McGonagall quelled her with a look. "Perhaps you could explain to me your theory in my office, Miss Granger, that we may leave Mr. Potter to recuperate in peace."

Hermione flushed. "Yes, Professor," she said, sending an apologetic look to Harry. He tried to convey with his eyes that he didn't mind, then turned back to McGonagall.

"What about Draco?" he asked, then cursed himself for the slip.

_"Draco?"_ he saw Ron mouth to Hermione. She shook her head. Harry blamed the potions for his misspeak.

"He is fine, Mr. Potter. It was lucky he was there, or we may not have found you before you suffered hypothermia, up there by yourself." Harry was more comfortable with the stern gaze of the headmistress than that other, wondering look.

"Sorry, Headmistress," he mumbled, looking down.

Luckily Madam Pomfrey stepped in at that moment, pronouncing him in good health, but that his body temperature was slightly high and he needed more rest. Happy for an excuse to be by himself for a while, Harry said his goodbyes and told Ron and Hermione that he would talk to them later.

Finally, left alone with his thoughts, Harry wondered again what had happened to him.

He remembered the light, flashing from the sky and filling his body. Or was it the other way around? He couldn't be sure. The heat in his chest was a mere shade of what had filled him before, that raging inferno that had lifted its wings around him and born him back up to the tower. He placed his palm flat on his chest. He could feel his heart beating, but could not feel the powerful heat that he had expected, though he could sense it inside himself, a coiling pocket of flame. And his body still felt tight, like an overinflated balloon, ready to burst at any moment.

Harry wanted to talk to Draco.

He wanted to know what had happened from the blonde's perspective, what the blonde had seen. He wanted to know why Draco had towed him down to the hospital wing.

_I'll talk to him tomorrow,_ he thought. He really felt remarkably tired.

He drifted to sleep, his palm still over his heart.

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

Apep flew above the clouds.

He could not sense his brother anymore, but he could roughly judge his location from the burst of magic that had awakened him.

_I am coming, Ra. I will find you._

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

TBC


	3. Ch 3 - The Fire Within

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, incredible literary goddess that she is. Except for that epilogue, I mean _really_. 

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

Apep might not know where Ra was hiding, but he had always known how to draw his brother out. Ra had always been weak, beholden to the pitiful creatures of this earth, intent on preventing as much suffering as he could. If only he would realize that suffering was the natural state of such a pathetic, wretched species as these humans were.

It seemed their population had grown, spreading like a plague since Apep had last walked the earth. He could see it as he flew, all the glowing lights, the cities and villages linked by roads that formed a huge, endless web across across the countryside. It was sickening to behold; the sheep needed culling.

He would start with the magical ones. They were the ones who had forced Apep to sleep so long ago, weaving a net of weariness over his mind that forced him to lay down and close his eyes.

Never again would that happen. Never again would mighty Apep be forced from this world.

As he approached the land where Ra had appeared the day before, he planned.

He would draw Ra out. Strike at the weak and defenseless humans, and he would come, shining in all his blazing, fiery glory to defend the pathetic sheep.

Apep would be waiting. Waiting with the trap he had planned for his brother before the meddling magic-users had put him to sleep. Ra would never know what hit him.

Once his brother was gone, there would be no one left to stop Apep. After he had consumed the magic-users, he would start on the rest of these weak humans.

Centuries of feasting awaited him, and he screamed his satisfaction to the air.

Flicking his tongue delicately against the air currents, Apep shifted course. He could sense a large draft of magic coming from a location not far to the north. He passed across the waves and over sandy shores, looking forward to the tasty meal that awaited him. 

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

After sleeping most of the day away, Harry was finally allowed to return to Gryffindor tower, with the admonishment that he make sure to get plenty of rest for the next few days. Apparently his body temperature was still elevated, but he didn't want to tell Madam Pomfrey about the strange feeling of heat in his chest. Better to discuss it with Hermione and Ron first.

The fat lady opened for him with a murmured "Aura Aurora," and he found his two best friends waiting for him on one of the cushy couches near the fireplace.

He greeted a few Gryffindors on his way across the common room, brushing off questions about his whereabouts for the last day. He wasn't sure what had happened to him the other night, but he was damn sure he didn't want to talk about it with his entire House. He was relieved to sink beside Ron and Hermione, relaxing into the worn leather with a sigh. He felt much better than he had just that morning, with barely a twinge of a headache, but his body still felt tight and pressurized, like a new bottle of Butterbeer.

"Oy, welcome back, mate!" Ron enthused. "We saw Malfoy earlier." Harry perked up a bit. "'Mione asked him what happened. Called her a Mudblood and said he should've left you up there to rot. Typical."

Harry grunted. That _was_ typical Draco. Caustic and evil. Harry wished again that he hadn't seen the bastard naked. He'd love to fuck that devious smirk off his pretty blond face.

They asked him how he was feeling and Hermione gave him his missed homework and some notes from their shared classes that day. Harry could tell Hermione was dying to ask him more questions about the incident on the tower, while Ron looked ready to let Harry tell it at his own pace. Before Hermione could even ask, though, Harry started his story. Ignoring his lingering tiredness, he told them everything, from the lack of connection with wand to the the strange heat he could feel pooling in his chest at that very moment, and all the events in between.

Hermione didn't interrupt, but by the end she was almost bouncing in her seat, fingers twitching as if seeking a quill to start scribbling down her thoughts. "Oh, Harry! It sounds like you've hit your magical maturity! I read that it can happen all of a sudden if a wizard needs to call on all his magic at a single critical moment! This just shows how powerful you're going to be!"

Harry frowned. "But I don't feel any different. And what about the wings?"

"That's probably just the form your magic decided to take at the time, to stop your fall." Ron was looking back and forth between them, his brow furrowed, but nodded in agreement with her words. Harry had to admit, it sounded plausible. However, other things still bothered him.

"But what about the hot feeling in my chest?"

Hermione paused a moment, but she had an explanation for that, too. "Maybe it's just a remnant of your magical exhaustion, or it could be your new magic hasn't had time enough to spread and settle throughout your body. You'll probably feel more comfortable after sleeping again tonight."

Harry nodded. The way she said it, it all made sense. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the feeling in his chest never went away, or if it was really just his magic, after all. It had an almost foreign feel to it, like a live creature. But perhaps it was as Hermione said, and it would feel more natural after it had settled further.

"Hey mate, have you tried using your wand since the fall?" Ron asked.

Harry's eyes widened. He hadn't even thought to try his wand again. He'd simply taken it from Madam Pomfrey and gone back to pondering the strange feelings in his body. And of course Draco Malfoy.

He pulled the length of Holly from the pocket of his denims. It still felt cool to the touch, with no apparent life to it. He was about to try a simple levitation charm on the ottoman when Hermione grabbed his wrist firmly.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Harry. Charms, remember?"

Harry dropped his arm sheepishly. He's almost forgotten in his excitement.

He looked over to his two friends, and grinned. "I think we _require_ a safe place that's magically warded, don't you?" he asked, emphasizing the word. They smiled back. 

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

Ten minutes later, they found themselves in a barren room consisting completely of flecked, greyish stone, carved with intricate runework on all four walls, ceiling, and floor. Hermione, the only one of the three of them who had any knowledge of Ancient Runes, said that their purpose seemed to be to provide a barrier against any magic performed in the room. After the walls had neatly absorbed a few hexes cast by her and Ron, Harry believed it. The Room of Requirement had outdone itself.

Harry stared pensively at the wand in his fist, mentally crossing his fingers. He could feel the fire coiling in his chest. It was probably just his imagination, but he could feel it getting excited, starting to heat up and flicker in anticipation.

He planned to start with something simple, the shield charm. He'd done it a million times, and it had never failed him, even with his recent trouble focusing.

He raised his wand and sucked in his breath. The coiling heat seemed to pause, waiting.

He snapped his wand sharply to the left, intoning "Protego!" in a firm voice.

Before the last syllable had left his mouth, he knew he was fucked.

The fire roared and exploded from his chest, galloping down his wand arm as the length of Holly simply erupted in his hand, sending bits of wood and ash flying as a white-hot flame burst from the core. For a moment he could see the red-gold tail feather that was his last connection to Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, glowing a molten gold against the white heat of the flame, before it seemed to _melt_ into the almost bluish flame that blazed down his arm. The two infernos met, and a concussive shock had Harry reeling backwards, a swarming ball of fire roiling in front of his face.

He heard Hermione screaming behind him as he staggered back, almost falling over. His wand arm dropped as he stumbled, and the fireball twisted and swirled with his movements. Harry began to panic, even as the flame twisting through his body seemed to rejoice. Fire had consumed the sleeve of his robe, and was spreading across his chest and back. The flames moved like liquid, spitting and hissing, dropping molten tears of flame to the grey stone floor.

But Harry's skin wasn't burning.

Gouts of water hit him from behind as Ron and Hermione had apparently recovered their wits enough to try and help him. The water sluiced over him, making what was left of his robe hiss and steam, but doing absolutely nothing against the beachball-sized orb of flame still spinning merrily in front of him.

"It's not working!" Hermione cried. "Harry! Can you put it out?"

He concentrated hard on flame, on the heat that seemed to race through his very bones. He could feel it, a living thing, yearning for direction. And though it behaved like a creature apart, he could feel his connection with it. It had come from his body, and it could go back. It was like having invisible threads winding through his chest and out down his limbs, twining into his bones and muscles and woven with the running flame. His body felt _alive_ with it.

He gathered his will and pulled _hard_ along the threads that linked him to the hissing ball, imagining them as physical strands that he could manipulate. He gathered it, trying to draw it back inside his body. It responded only reluctantly, like it didn't want to return.

Like it wanted to be _used_.

Harry focused all his energy on constraining it, stamping it down, and _yanked_.

The fireball collapsed into itself, flooded up his arms and back into his body, and winked out of existence.

Harry fell to his knees, shaking and gasping for air. His body felt like a furnace, and his robe hung in tatters off one shoulder where the fire has consumed it.

In seconds Hermione's arms were around him, her hands running down his bare wand arm. "Oh, Harry! Are you all right? Are you burnt? And your wand!"

He could only shake his head, trying to breathe. Ron squatted on his other side, looking concerned, but slightly wary. Harry wondered if they thought he might burst into flame again.

"We've got to get the headmistress! This is crazy, Harry, your magic shouldn't be -"

"No!" he gasped. She stared at him incredulously. "Just... no. Give me a minute."

She waited at his side, muttering spells at his arm and body, presumably trying to find some damage.

There would be none, Harry knew. The fire hadn't touched him.

He could feel it now, piled like shifting sheets of packed power beneath his skin. He could feel it moving in his chest, racing up and down his arms. His skin was tingling like mad.

Though he still felt overheated, he shivered.

What was happening to him? 

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

Draco hadn't seen Potter for the entire previous day. Not that he had been looking for the speccy git. So what if he had finally had his eyes corrected and tossed those hideous glasses? He would always be a speccy git.

That was why he definitely was not looking towards the Gryffindor table at breakfast the next morning, and it was only by pure coincidence that he noticed Harry trooping into the Great Hall with his little entourage arrayed around him.

The Gryffindor Golden Boy looked a bit pale this morning, a full day and half after his fall from the tower, but there was something else different about him. Draco squinted, but could not put his finger on what had changed since two nights ago. His eyes weren't glowing as Draco had last seen them, but were their usual sharp emerald green. No, it was his skin, as if the faintest possible reflection of the fiery white light that had carried Potter back up to the safety of the tower still remained with him, scorched into his flesh. Draco wondered if anyone else even noticed the miniscule radiance the Golden Boy was shedding.

_You're probably the only one obsessed enough to see the difference_, he thought bitterly.

He forced his eyes away and tried to eat his toast with all the dignity befitting a Malfoy, but was shortly interrupted by the arrival of the Prophet being dropped directly onto his plate. Bloody common owls couldn't aim for shit.

He stopped caring once he noticed the headline: 

**_'RAMPAGING BEAST' SNATCHES CHILDREN IN DIAGON ALLEY_**  
by Rita Skeeter

_Families remain in shock as what is being described as either a "dragon" or more simply a "flying beast" descended on shoppers in Diagon Alley late last evening, snatching children from their parents' very arms. Spells cast against the beast, as large a train car by all accounts, had no discernible effect, bouncing from a leathery hide._

"It was horrible!" says Henrietta Cornfoot, owner of Cornfoot's Complete Cures for Blemishes, Blotches, and Bunions. "It took little Susan Copperpot from her mum right outside my shop! It's the work of You-Know-Who, is what it is!"

Other witnesses seemed to be in agreement that this beast was somehow left behind by the late He Who Must Not be Named, defeated last year by the Saviour Harry Potter in the Battle of Hogwarts. "The Dark Lord has returned again!" screamed an unnamed witness, who ran in terror past this reporter.

Some, however, were skeptical. "Old Voldie is dead and gone, thanks to Harry," says George Weasley, owner of Weasley Wizard Wheezes. "That monster that showed up today... I don't know what that was."

Various reports have described the creature as having the head of either a dog or snake, with a dragon's body and wings, and a long black tail. One witness, close enough to see the beast's face, described catlike, glowing yellow eyes, and a forked tongue that flickered like that of a snake.

Aurors dispatched to the scene did not arrive in time to save any of the three children taken by the beast. Since the attack, Ministry officials have been contacting dragon reserves across Europe, asking for an account of any that may have escaped recently and that fit the beast's description.

Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared outraged at the blatant attack on one of the Wizarding community's most popular shopping destinations. "We will not rest until this beast is found and destroyed," he vowed. "Wizarding families deserve to be able to do their shopping in peace and security. Until this creature has been neutralized, Auror squadrons will be conducting regular patrols of Diagon Alley during all business hours."

Although this is the first major threat to the Wizarding public since the downfall of You Know Who, this reporter has to wonder about the timing of the event. Is it in any way connected to the huge burst of magic felt near Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry two nights ago, or are the two events unrelated?

The article continued with more reactions about both the attack in Diagon Alley and the magical explosion from two nights ago, with speculation that the former was a Dark magic ceremony used to raise this beast.

Draco snorted. Terrific investigative reporting by the _Prophet_, as always.

He wondered, though, as he looked back across the Great Hall to the Golden Trio, who were hunched like a war council over the paper, whether the _Daily Prophet_ might be right for once. What were the odds that Potter would be involved in such a ridiculous display of magical power, only to have a ravening dragon-beast start terrorizing Diagon Alley the next day?

Regardless, it was looking like another possible job for the superpowered Boy Wonder.

Just then a pair of brilliant green eyes lifted over the rim of the newspaper across the hall. Draco blinked, caught staring. Before he could look away, Potter made a slight jerking motion with his chin, towards the Great Hall doors, a question in his eyes.

Before he could really think, Draco nodded back. _Bloody Potter and his bloody powerful eyes._ It should be illegal to use mind control like that. Someone should report the git, Golden Boy or not.

Draco made an excuse about having left his homework in the boys' dormitory. Pansy narrowed her eyes, then looked across the hall at the exact most inopportune moment, to see Potter getting up from the Gryffindor table. Draco stalked quickly away before she could ask, pointedly not looking at the completely-incapable-of-being-surreptitious Golden Boy as he walked out the great double doors. He could feel her eyes on his back the whole way, but refused to dwell on it.

Denial had gotten him this far, after all. 

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

"So."

They were in an abandoned classroom on the second floor near the Defense corridor. Malfoy stood with his arms crossed and a sour look on his face, leaning back against a desk.

"You wanted to talk, Potter. So talk."

Harry sighed. Why must Malfoy always be such a git?

"Why are you always such a git?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and made to leave. Harry quickly moved in front of him, palms up. "Wait, Malfoy." The other boy paused, looking at the floor. "Please."

The Slytherin seemed almost defeated by the word, as he looked Harry in the eye with much less fire than usual.

"I need to know what happened the other night. What you saw on the astronomy tower."

The other boy looked at him incredulously. "What I _saw_, Potter, is you almost getting yourself _killed_, and me saving your sorry, passed-out arse after the fact."

Harry restrained his temper by force of will. He needed to find out what Malfoy had seen, and breaking the other boy's pretty face would not help him, no matter how satisfying it may feel.

"Thank you. For taking me to the Hospital Wing afterwards, I mean. But I really need to know what happened. From your perspective."

"So you cause the biggest magical event at Hogwarts in a generation, and you're telling me you don't bloody know what it was?"

Harry snapped. "No, Malfoy, I don't! Why do you think I'm here asking you? All I know is that it almost bloody killed me and you're the only sodding witness! Besides, it's only because you startled me that I fell in the first place!"

"Right, Potter. It's my fault you were leaning over the edge of the astronomy tower late at night. What, the adulation of the masses getting to be too much for Saint Potter?" He rolled his eyes dramatically and affected a high-pitched whine. _"Oh, woe is me! An Order of Merlin and the love of millions! Life is not worth living!"_

Harry seethed, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He longed to wrap his fingers around the blond's neck. "The war is over, Malfoy. Excuse me for thinking that with Voldemort gone and Daddy locked away you could finally stop being such a miserable little shit."

Malfoy looked like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Fuck you, Potter. If you think that I'm just going to run and ask you and your ruddy friends for forgiveness, then you're more barking than Voldemort. I did what I had to do to survive." His face was flushed, his eyes stormy and voice passionate.

It was really quite distracting for Harry. He tried not to stare at Malfoy's lips.

There was silence for a few moments, the two of them simply looking at each other and breathing heavily. Harry wondered how they had gotten so quickly from Harry's fall the other night to old grudges about the war. He realized this was the first time this year that they had actually argued and exchanged insults. It felt unfamiliar, wrong. A bad memory he was being forced to relive.

Harry looked at Malfoy. Really _looked_ at him. Beyond the anger, beyond his distractingly pretty face. Really _looked_.

And Malfoy looked tired. He had undereye circles that reminded Harry of sixth year, and his eyes held a tight, almost haunted look. It made Harry want to hug the bastard.

"You should have asked me for help," he said softly, staring into the other boy's grey eyes. "I wish you had asked me for help."

Draco laughed so bitterly that it made Harry flinch. When, Harry?" He didn't seem conscious that he had just used Harry's first name. "In sixth year, when the Dark Lord threatened to kill my mother if I didn't help his Death Eaters into the school and try to kill Dumbledore? Or in seventh year, when I was held captive in my own home, when it was my own life he constantly threatened?" He shook his head, looking incredibly weary all of a sudden, all the fight drained out of him. "You were everybody's hero. Everybody's. Except for the Slytherin's. And except for mine."

Harry's heart ached. He remembered sixth year, casting Sectumsempra and almost killing the blond. He wondered what he would have done himself, if he had had a living mother. If she had been held captive by the Dark Lord. He didn't want to think about it.

Harry also wondered if Malfoy realized he had as good as admitted to wanting to be saved. Instead he said, "I never knew what was going on. If I had..." He trailed off, looking distantly over Malfoy's shoulder.

"If you had, there wouldn't have been shit you could do about it. My father chose our side, and Mother and I were dragged along in his wake."

Silence fell again, both wrapped in the horrors of the past. Harry wondered if there would ever be a way to move past the history and animosity between them, to some neutral ground devoid of insults and hostility. But Malfoy spoke before he could voice those thoughts.

"You fell over the wall of the tower," he started, voice empty of emotion. He didn't look at Harry. "I thought you would die, but then came that light, and a crash like thunder. I couldn't tell if it came from you first, or from the sky. You came back up over the wall, surrounded in light. I couldn't even see your body at first, it was too bright. Then it all faded, and you passed out."

He shrugged tiredly. "That's all I know, Potter."

Draco made to move past him to the door. Harry grabbed the blond's wrist.

Draco froze, staring at the point where Harry's fingers touched his skin.

_Merlin, his skin is soft._ He yanked his hand back as if burned, heart pounding. The stacked plates of heat within him shifted.

"I... just... Thank you, Malfoy." He swallowed. "Draco."

The blond stared pensively at his wrist for a second, looked once at Harry, and left.

By the time Harry was ready to leave the empty classroom, he had missed all of Transfiguration.

TBC


	4. Ch 4 - Revelations

**Revelations**

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, incredible literary goddess that she is. Except for that epilogue, I mean _really_. 

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

Harry dreamed.

_He was twelve years old again, lying in a puddle of water in the Chamber of Secrets, his own lifeblood seeping from his arm. Basilisk venom coursed through his bloodstream, its acid burn moving swiftly towards his chest, where it would surely stop his heart. The hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor lay heavy in his palm, and he knew if he looked he would see the blade still coated with red-black basilisk blood._

Through a haze of pain he could hear the warbling, singing cry of a phoenix. Fawkes.

Hot air caressed his face as the glowing bird landed beside him. Fawkes warbled mournfully, then bent his head over the wound in Harry's arm.

The tears hissed as they landed in the open wound, and Harry felt the battle raging in his veins. Phoenix tears battled basilisk venom, tracking the poison through his veins and destroying it with fire. It reached and burned, burned and reached, until it had traveled all the way to his heart.

Heat flared once more, intensely, in Harry's chest, then subsided.

Harry opened his eyes to find Fawkes staring at him with head cocked. A golden shimmer radiated from the bird, a corona of light that promised healing and protection. Harry lifted a shaky hand, and Fawkes leaned down, nipping his finger.

The phoenix warbled again, this time with an urgent quality, although how he knew what an urgent warble sounded like, Harry had no idea. Good thing he was dreaming. Fawkes seemed to want Harry to grab onto his tail feathers, swishing them against his wrist in agitation. Remembering what Dumbledore had told him about Phoenixes being able to carry very heavy loads, Harry grabbed hold.

The world blurred, tunneling around him like when the ship jumped to Warp Drive in Star Trek, which he had seen during one of the few times the Dursleys had allowed him to sit on the floor and watch tele with them. Harry had a vague sense of time and distance passing around them, before they slowed, appearing in a sun-drenched, blue-skyed landscape.

Dry heat assaulted his senses, and below him stretched the sands of a desert. They flew swiftly, Harry keeping a firm hold on Fawkes' tail feathers as the sands raced beneath them. He squinted against the wind that caused his eyes to water, and caught his breath as he saw what they approached: The Great Pyramids of Egypt.

Harry had learned enough in Muggle primary school to recognize the monstrous structures, even though one looked half-destroyed. As they approached, he realized it was not half-destroyed, but rather, half-built.

They swooped closer, and Harry began to make out a large crowd of people at the base of one of the completed pyramids. As they came into view, he could see they formed a huge circle, with observers gathered around the perimeter of their linked arms. Within the circle, a huge beast struggled against thick lengths of silver chain, the links glowing with extremely powerful magic. Harry did not know if he could see the magic because it was so powerful, or because he was linked to Fawkes at the moment.

The phoenix began to hover, drifting slowly down towards the gathered figures. They wore elaborate robes and even more elaborate headdresses, picked out in metallic silvers and golds that flashed in the desert sun. Harry assumed them to be the witches and wizards of their time, with the amount of magic they wielded. He could hear their chanting as they approached, rising in a hundred voices from the men and women in the linked circle. The words were foreign to him, but he could sense the rising magic. It rang in the air, and the chain links looked to be growing brighter as they held the struggling beast.

Fawkes had brought them close enough now that he could distinguish details of the beast. It was huge and dragon-like, though not as large as the Hungarian Horntail he had fought in fourth year. It also did not look quite like any dragon Harry had ever seen before. Its hide was leathery, but also had scales that gleamed in the sunlight. In fact, the darkness coming from the scales was so black, it seemed to suck the sunlight right into it, creating a vague shadowing effect around the creature's body. As the beast's head swung around, jaws wide open in a hideous scream, Harry could see rows of wicked-looking teeth, and two huge fangs dropping down in front. A ridged row of spiked flesh traveled down the joints of its spine, and its long, whip-like tail lashed in agitation.

Despite the desert heat, Harry shivered just looking at it, thinking that he was happy to be up here with Fawkes, unnoticed, even if this was just a dream.

Fawkes sang sharply at him, a scolding note that told him to pay attention.

As Harry watched, a golden glow began to form at the far side of the circle. The light built and increased, until, like a second sun, a figure began to rise off the ground.

Harry caught his breath. It was a man, with tawny skin and dark hair, dressed only in a type of skirt that flashed with reflected light from intricate golden filigree, carrying a staff topped with some kind of shining device, whether jewel or metal Harry could not tell. He rose, slowly, above the far edge of the circle, and Harry could see wings forming from his back.

And he shone, _with such light as Harry had never seen before. Like sunlight, compacted and then emitted in a concentrated burst. The man's skin shimmered with it, and his eyes flashed with fire. The wings behind him grew and expanded, up and out until they flared across the entire diameter of the circle of chanting people. And the magic that rose with him was – incredible._

Harry didn't know that one person could harness that much magic without being killed from the sheer weight of it. He watched avidly as the flying man floated into the middle of the circle. The black snake-dragon had turned to face him, head lowered in defiance. Harry wished they could circle around to see the confrontation better.

No sooner had he thought it than Fawkes was moving. But of course, since this was just a dream, Harry could do what he liked. Fawkes shrilled another sharp note at him, and Harry felt a sharp stab of pain in his mind, as if the bird had actually pecked him there. What the hell?_ He felt a nudge at his thoughts, telling him to watch, to pay attention. That this was important._

Maybe this wasn't just a dream.

_The tawny man had landed, but his shining wings had only shrunk a bit, not disappeared. He glowed with fire as he advanced towards the black beast, eyes shining like pools of molten gold. The chanting rose again around them, the people all but shouting in their strange language._

The man stopped just beyond where the chains kept the creature tethered, glowing bright silver against its black hide. From this close, Harry could see the utter hatred on its face as it stared at the glowing man.

The shining man held out one arm, palm towards the beast, and began to speak, the words gaining power like an incantation. Harry could see the magic pooling, a glowing point in the center of his palm. The gathered magic of the chanting witches and wizards streamed towards him, offered up for his use, swarming together, an avalanche of power. It built, tossing and churning as the ocean in a storm. It swelled around the man until Harry was certain he would drown in the sheer mass of it.

Instead he called it to himself, captured it, twisted it, and thrust it directly at the dragon-beast.

The magic flowed forth in the form of fire, leaping in a liquid flame directly for the creature. The beast's mouth opened in a cry of pain as it swarmed around him, flooding over his scaly black body, washing all the way down to his tail, covering it from one end to the other.

The beast writhed and screamed. Then its legs gave out.

It collapsed to the sand and lay panting as the fire continued to course over it. The blackness emitting from its hide seemed to be trying to fight, pushing back against the flame. But the magic continued to pour over it, from the group of wizards and through the winged man, who now glowed so brightly that Harry couldn't bear to look directly at him.

The darkness in its hide began seeping away, dulling against the brightness of the flame. Its head fell to the earth, the last of its strength failing it. The winged man's voice rose sharply, and with one final word, the power seemed to suck in on itself, coiling tight around the beast's body, wrapping it in a shroud of fire.

And then it was over.

The light slowly faded, and the man's wings flowed smoothly back into his skin. He was breathing hard, as if the struggle had taken much out of him.

The beast, when Harry looked, was gone.

The winged man appeared weary, but turned back toward the ring of wizards who had helped him defeat the creature with his head held high.

And that's when Harry saw his back.

Where the wings had sprouted lay a huge, intricate tattoo that glittered like spun gold in the sunlight. Fiery reds and brilliant oranges, slashed all over with gold and black, all formed the image of a phoenix in flight that covered the man's entire back, from his neck to where it disappeared below his gold-banded skirt.

Fawkes trilled, and an image formed in Harry's mind, superimposed over the actual scene he was witnessing in the desert. An image of a phoenix, perched atop the shoulder of a man. Then the phoenix burning, as they always did in their rebirthing, but taking the man with him, burning up both of them.

And then, rising slowly from the ashes, a man, glowing fiery gold, with the image of the phoenix on his back.

Fawkes began pulling them back up towards the sky as the scene faded from Harry's mind. He had once last glance at the mass of ancient wizards on the ground, where the desert sun illuminated a scene of celebration, and then they were gone, swirling through the same type of vortex that had brought them there in the first place.

Harry's mind whirled with the images he had just witnessed, wondering why Fawkes had chosen to show him this. He could hear the phoenix singing as they flew, and he began to grow weary with the sound. The lights began to fade around them, and Harry suddenly had the overwhelming urge to shut his eyes and sleep.

The last thing he felt before darkness took his mind, was the comforting heat flowing from the phoenix tail feathers still clutched in his palm. 

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

Harry awoke slowly, bathed in a heavy warmth that had him smiling before he even opened his eyes. This warmth was _marvelous_, soaking through his bones and heating the bed around him. He felt cocooned and safe. It was the best he could ever remember feeling.

Until he remembered the dream.

Harry's smile faded as he opened his eyes to the drab sight of the canopy of his four-poster in the Gryffindor boys' eighth-year dorm.

That dream was not normal.

He could remember it perfectly. Every detail.

He left the wonderful heat of his blankets, frowning as he padded to the loo in just his pants. It was too early for the others to be awake yet, but Harry knew he would not fall back asleep.

The lingering warmth from his dream faded as he relieved himself, leaving him faintly chilled in its wake.

Except for his back.

His back was still warm, heated as if with a sunburn.

Harry froze, staring at himself in the mirror over the sink, eyes wide.

No. It couldn't be.

He turned slowly, hand washing forgotten, and peered over his shoulder.

There, over the entire expanse of his before-unblemished back, was a shimmering, intricate tattoo of a phoenix. Twin to the one he had seen on the winged Egyptian man in his dream.

Oh, _shit_.

He leaned heavily on his palms against the lip of the sink, staring at his reflection in horror. The huge new tattoo was a burning brand at his back.

Thoughts rushed through his head as the dots connected almost of their own accord. The flaring wings that had carried him back up to the tower that night after he fell. The beast snatching children in Diagon Alley. The Phoenix Man and the Beast facing off in ancient Egypt. The new tattoo on his back. Fawkes, not seen since burning Dumbledore's body after his death, appearing in his dreams. And then his own history with Fawkes, since the time he healed Harry in the Chamber of Secrets.

He touched a hand to his chest, where he still remembered the power of the phoenix tears, burning away the venom that almost killed him. Had that somehow connected him to the phoenix?

As if on cue, the stacked plates of heat shifted under his skin. Harry jumped.

This was all getting too big for him. He wished Dumbledore were around to explain things. Surely the man who had been bonded to a phoenix for much of his adult life would have some clue as to what was happening. Maybe he should talk to McGonagall.

But first, of course, he had to tell Ron and Hermione. 

~-~-~-~-~-~HPDM~-~-~-~-~-~

"Bloody hell, mate," Ron said from behind him, a note of awe in his voice. "That's wicked!"

Harry rolled his eyes silently.

"You said it's exactly the same as the one you saw on the man in your dream, Harry?" asked Hermione. He could see her face, scrunched up in that clinical way she had whenever she examined a new piece of evidence, trying to see where it would fit in one of her flow charts or diagrams.

He grunted affirmatively.

There was silence behind him for a moment, and then a finger began tracing the tattoo on his back, the light touch declaring Hermione as the finger's owner. Harry was sure she could feel the heat coming from his skin.

"In ancient Egypt there was a God named Ra," she said, going into lecture mode. "He was the God of sunlight, and later believed to be the creator of all things living. His symbol was the sun, of course, but also a bird. I wonder..." she trailed off, taking her finger off his back. Harry turned around to face his two friends. Hermione looked pensive.

"What is it, 'Mione?" Ron asked.

"Well, what if, all those thousands of years ago, Ra was actually a phoenix? Or perhaps Ra was the man reborn as a phoenix that you saw in your dream, Harry."

"But he was _reborn_ as a phoenix. Fawkes just cried on me when I was twelve, and now six years later I turn into a freak? It doesn't make sense!"

"First of all," began Hermione, giving him a hard glare, "you are not a freak. This is an incredible gift, Harry!"

"All that's happened so far is that I've had my back turn into a canvas and I almost managed to kill all of us with that fireball in the Room of Requirement!" he cried.

"We've hardly scratched the surface of your new powers, Harry! You might be able to do wandless magic, learn to form those wings and control them, or even work with other elemental magic! The ancient Egyptians were supposedly adept with earth and air magic, as well, you know."

"Hold on, 'Mione," said Ron, putting a quelling hand on her shoulder. "I think Harry's right. How is this happening? Even if Fawkes made a connection to him when he cried on Harry's shoulder, it still makes no sense."

She looked at him steadily. "I'm not sure, Ron. It could be his ancestry, or the connection to Fawkes, or simply that magic chose him to wield this power. Or a combination of all three. Personally, from what Harry described, I think it also has to do with Fawkes' tail-feather in Harry's wand core, which gave Harry a connection to phoenix magic from the time he was eleven. And then Fawkes cured Harry of his wounds from the basilisk, creating an even stronger magical bond between them."

"And now... what? Fawkes is a part of me?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Maybe," said Hermione. "Or maybe that connection just created a conduit for a certain type of magic. The same magic that phoenixes use as elemental fire beings. Maybe when you fell off the tower, that conduit was opened, because you needed the most powerful magic you could access to save yourself." She paused. "Your power has always been wilder than other wizard's, Harry. Maybe you've always had some capacity for elemental magic, and we never knew."

"But I probably have some connection to Fawkes, since he guided me in the dream," Harry said. Hermione nodded.

"When he healed you with his tears in the Chamber of Secrets, that could have left a dormant connection between the two of you, yes. There's very little research on the long-term side effects of healing received from a phoenix."

Harry's head was reeling. So many maybes, and nothing truly concrete. The only thing he knew for sure was what he had felt in his dream, and that he had new powers and an enormous new tattoo.

"Hermione, can you at least put a glamour on this thing?" he asked, jerking his chin towards his shoulder.

"I can try," she replied, looking a bit pensive. "Although I'm not sure how a glamour spell might interact with the magic of the tattoo. I'd rather research it first."

"It goes all the way up to his neck, 'Mione. Everyone's sure to see it," said Ron.

"Can my collar cover it?" asked Harry.

"Most of it, but there will still be gold feathers poking above it," Hermione replied. "But I could make your hair grow to cover it until we can find more information about phoenix magic and magical tattoos."

Harry sighed in resignation. "Just do it, please."

And that was how Harry spent his third day after his fall from the tower: with longer and shaggier hair than usual, a constantly-warm tattoo covering his entire back, and no wand.

That last bit was, of course, driving the professors spare. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had told Headmistress McGonagall just enough about his new powers and errant magic, along with the loss of his wand, that she had exempted him from performing spells in class for the time being. Harry hadn't dared try to use either Ron or Hermione's wands for fear of destroying them as he had his own, although with the new developments about his connection to Fawkes, he wondered if the phoenix feather in his wand's core had somehow joined with the magic inside his body. How else could he explain that fireball in the Room of Requirement, where the two fire magics had crashed together and joined?

It was enough to keep him thoroughly distracted throughout the day, enough so that when he stepped off a moving staircase to pass towards the Great Hall for dinner, he ran right into another student before he even realized he was not alone in the passageway.

"Oh, sorry!" he said, grabbing the other student's arm as he stumbled. Harry caught sight of the platinum blond hair at the same time as the other student jerked his arm roughly out of Harry's grasp.

Of course it would be bloody Malfoy. Merlin's great dangling bollocks but he had shit for luck.

"Watch where you're going, Potter!" sneered Malfoy, rubbing at his arm as if Harry had caused some type of serious injury. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I didn't hurt you, you great wanker."

"Maybe you need your glasses back, Scarhead, since you can't seem to see what's right in front of your nose!"

Malfoy was flushing slightly, and it was distracting Harry again. He didn't want to be distracted, as this was the perfect opportunity to vent some of his recent frustration with his magic.

"I guess you've just become so insignificant that I don't even notice you any more, Ferret Face!" said Harry, proud to have a suitably snappy comeback.

Instead of simply taking another verbal jab at him, as Harry had expected, Draco's face twisted in rage, and before Harry knew it, the blond was on him, shoving him backwards towards the staircase. Startled, but still with the advantage of weight and height, Harry grabbed Malfoy's wrist and yanked, hard, at the same time as he spun sideways. The move sent Malfoy careening past him, where he would have to catch himself on the railing of the staircase or topple down it.

Unless, of course, a tiny Gryffindor first-year by the name of Annabelle Grimes stepped off the staircase at that exact moment, right into Malfoy's path.

Harry's heart jumped into his throat as he saw the little girl's eyes go almost comically wide, seeing the much larger Slytherin boy bearing down on her. She had no time to move, to jump aside. Nothing to grab onto that was close enough for her small arms. Nowhere to fall except down the long staircase behind her.

The long, _stone_ staircase.

Even as Harry lunged forward, it was too late, Malfoy slamming into her as he grasped for the edge of the banister.

_NO!_ his mind screamed.

And his power responded.

Never before had he felt so consciously the movement of his own power in response to a command. The heated plates beneath his skin swirled and surged, churning and foaming, transforming even as the power breached the barrier of his skin.

Harry could feel the air around them as his magic filled it, interacted with it, shoving and packing it down and forward and around them, shifting and forming it until it bent to his will and coalesced, in a fraction of a second that seemed to last a lifetime, into a solid bed of air underneath the first-year. So fast was the magic that it had caught her before she had fallen a single step.

Harry drew the power back towards him, pulling the girl in far enough that she could stand on the landing on her own. Her feet touched the floor, and Harry hurried forward, so breathlessly relieved that she was all right that he could barely form coherent thoughts. He gathered her in his arms, letting the magic fall around them. It was not as hard to draw back this time as it was when he had tried to contain the fire in the Room of Requirement. He only vaguely wondered why as he held the quaking girl in his arms.

Over her shoulder he saw Draco Malfoy, dusting himself slowly off, a completely blank look on his face as he stared at Harry.

"Shhhh, it's ok," he murmured to the diminutive eleven-year-old.

Malfoy stared some more, in complete silence. Harry stared back.

Their actions, their childish squabble, had almost killed or seriously injured an innocent eleven-year-old girl.

Harry had survived a lot of things, but if he had caused a child's death, he would never be able to live with himself.

He stared at Malfoy, and Malfoy stared at him. He rubbed the girl's back as she pulled herself together.

The quiet moment was broken as they heard more students coming up the stairs, carrying chatter and laughter with them.

Malfoy turned away, striding off towards the Great Hall, face a mask of stone.

TBC


End file.
